Home
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: Because it's been six weeks, exactly five weeks and six days too long for her liking. Set during Valkyrie 6.01


**A/N:** I picked the worst time to get flu, but flaily squee *cough sneeze*! They are BACK!

* * *

**_"You put your arms around me and I'm home."_**

* * *

She's weary, bone tired, exhausted and alone.

In the muted darkness of her apartment she lets the door close, abhors the silence that swallows her up the second the lock engages and, with the heavy press of regret weighing down her feet, she moves about the room.

The empty feel of unpacked, still stacked boxes looms over her and though she should attempt to move some more things, make some space and settle in, tonight she just cannot bring herself to do it. She ditches her folder, cell, keys and jacket and heads to the bathroom, desperate to wash the day from her skin.

She hits the light and catches her reflection in the mirror, the sleepy edge of remorse curving darkly under her eyelids, dejected shadows filling in the gaps between what she wants and how she's actually spending her time.

The bathroom mirror reflects a face far too knowing, eyes dulled and swimming with knowledge that this isn't how she intended to spend her weekend and more than that it's not what she wanted.

God, it's not what she wanted_ at all_.

It's harder than she anticipated - and she went into this with her eyes wide open - harder work, more time consuming, more tiring and the learning curve is steeper than she expected, but it's not just the job.

It's the fact that right now she should be unlocking his front door, and walking into his home and dropping her bags and letting him wrap her up in his arms. Though these moments of solitude used to seem so welcome, so necessary, they fall by the wayside when she thinks of Castle. Thinks of where she _should_ be.

She hates the silence and the cold gloom of coming here alone when she was supposed to be with_ him_.

She swallows past it, drops her eyes from the woman in the mirror who knows too much and looks at her with pity and, with a heavy sigh - fingers tangling in her cuffs as she unbuttons them - Kate decides to save the wallowing for the tub, for the phone call to share their day and just...hear his voice - the thought of which are the only things that have gotten her through - and she starts to unbutton her shirt.

Her fingers tangle in the chain that holds her rings and she nods at the reminder, at the decisions that have brought her to this point, shakes her head at the way this day has turned out.

She feels the shift in the shadow behind her before she hears the creak of the floor, new and yet she knows the sounds are not the only intruder into what should be a silence of her own making. She watches the flicker of movement across the mirror that tells her someone is only a few feet away, and she reaches back behind her, draws her gun and whirls on the spot.

He doesn't budge, doesn't even blink, just lifts his finger and points at her, completely straight faces, "Oooh. Can you at least finish taking that off before you shoot me?"

"Cas-?" For a split second she wonders if he's even real, so lost in her own thoughts and missing him, maybe she conjured him here, then her brain catches up to the shocked happy parts of her, "Castle! Uh!" She remembers to lower her gun, just, "What are you doing here?"

He starts striding towards her, looking more tanned than the last time she saw him, bright and purposeful, "I know I promised to respect your job, but I couldn't go another week without seeing you."

Because it's been six weeks, exactly five weeks and six days too long for her liking, "You know you shoul-" she almost tosses her gun, checks herself engages the safety, let's it slide into the sink out of harms way and turns back, her hair flaring out around her, hating how far away he still is, "You shouldn't have come here." But she's smiling and meeting his eyes and rising up with this feeling of light hearted happiness that just swamps into all those deep, dark, lonely places that miss him, and it lifts her onto her toes.

"So, you want me to leave?" He throws out the words, a challenge that isn't needed when she's already reaching for him, already pulling him against her, because he's still too far away and it's been six weeks.

They should be kissing.

"Oh, immediately."

She holds onto his face and pushes herself into him, hears herself groan in pleasure and feels him grunt when she almost knocks him off his feet. Her hands roam over the heat of his sides and the width of his back, trying to ruck up his shirt so she can get under it, get at him.

Because - yes, god, yes he should be clawing at her, squeezing and stroking and claiming, and lifting the leg that she's already wrapped around his thigh - he _shouldn't_ be here, he should be turning on his heel and heading to that singular place of warmth and safety.

Home!

But now, luckily, wonderfully, _beautifully_, home is anywhere where they share a bed, where they kiss and moan and come together, and she's groaning and grunting into the kiss that tastes like sweet salvation after the longest day - the longest six weeks they have ever spent apart. It tastes like second chances she didn't expect to get, plans cancelled and plans remade, renewed and revived, and him.

Delicious, familiar, _hers_.

Home.

Home on his lips, on the brush of his tongue and in the feel of his fingers as they roam her back and pluck up her shirt and he finally, finally, finally presses his lips to that place on her neck that makes her shiver, makes her moan that she's missed him.

Home in the soft, familiar heat of his wide palms and spreading fingers on her skin.

Home in the bed they share together - haven't shared for six long weeks but will again as soon as they get out of the bathroom - and in the way he lifts her, driving her backwards into the door. She gets her other leg up around his waist and with both feet leaving the floor she has no choice but to cling to him, to coil into him when he wraps his arms around her, pulls her in tight to his chest and yes, starts walking her backwards towards the bedroom.

Yes, god yes, to the bed.

"Bedroom, Castle." She pulls back from his lips finds joy and longing in the darkening blue of his eyes, finds passion and desire and love all there.

And him, him right _here_.

Home.


End file.
